


i want the ocean right now

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Polyamory, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to say,” Jemma says, only just slightly betraying her drunkenness. “For the record, that I am the hottest person in this room.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want the ocean right now

 

“I want to say,” Jemma says, only just slightly betraying her drunkenness. “For the record, that I am the hottest person in this room.”

Sharon snorts. Steve, to his benefit, just looks sort of bemused. He’s literally taking his shirt off as she declares this, and the irony is not lost on any of them. Jemma’s already wrenched off her dress and climbed into bed in just her slip, silky and barely there. In the morning, she’ll be irritated that they let her wrinkle it.

Jemma did at least take her discarded evening gown and lay it over a chair so as not to damage it. Sharon fully plans to leave hers on the floor. She kicks it aside as she grabs a t-shirt out of Steve’s drawer, not bothering to ask permission first. He always says yes.

Steve, of course, hangs his suit up back in its dry cleaning bag, so he’s the last one to bed, crawling in on the far right. He only sleeps on this side when they’re here. It doesn’t feel right without them.

The lone yellow lamp is within arm’s reach, but he leaves it on. Jemma, loose and open, settles against his front, pulling his arms around her. Steve has a private feeling that she appreciates the strength and largeness of his arms locked tight around her, stability on a constantly changing Earth. He’s happy to oblige.

Sharon hooks a leg over Jemma and warms her foot between Steve’s thighs. For two very independent women, they do like to use his body.

It’s more than that, though. They all know that it’s more than that.

“It was a nice party,” Sharon says diplomatically. Jemma and Steve are both in moods, so she has to be the reasonable one.

Steve lets it rip. “I wanted to leave as soon as we got there.”

“I could tell,” Sharon grins.

At this hour, Steve no longer possesses the decency to look embarrassed.

“You’re not very fond of tuxedos,” Jemma says. “Even though they’re quite fond of you.”

He nips at her neck. She lets out a noise halfway between a groan and a meow.

“Still, it was nice of Tony to throw it, considering it was his fault we needed to raise the money,” Sharon continues.

“The Brooklyn borough president hates Tony so much for that bridge collapse, you know,” Steve says. “He swears it was an accident.”

“You don’t believe him?” Jemma asks.

“I believe him, but the borough president doesn’t,” Steve replies. “I spent most of the night convincing him not to press charges.”

“That’s probably why we were invited,” Sharon smirks.

“Speak for yourself,” Jemma says. “I’m a delight at parties.”

“We know,” the other two say in unison, a private joke. Jemma kicks at them. They both snare around her tighter.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk,” Jemma moans. “I’m falling asleep.”

This precious time feels wasted sleeping. Trust Jemma to drag them all back to reality.

“So sleep,” Steve says gently.

“No.”

“Jemma—”

“ _No._ ”

“Did you really expect to go to Tony’s and not drink, though?” Sharon says, trying to pump levity back into their bed. “You’re a party animal, Jemma Simmons.”

Jemma rolls her eyes instead of responding. Then she tries to wriggle herself free of Steve’s perfectly inescapable arms, finally sitting against the headboard when he relents. She leans over him, grabs the glass of water he left there, and starts to drink.

“We have to sleep eventually, Jem,” Sharon says quietly.

“Let’s stay up,” she says, stubbornly ignoring reason.

Sharon and Steve share a glance over Jemma’s bare thighs.

None of them want to sleep. Because in the morning Jemma goes back to her team at SHIELD and Sharon goes back to the CIA and Steve will be left here alone again. And none of them feel like they can handle another goodbye.

“It’s hard,” Jemma says quietly.

This is not something they’ve said before. This arrangement isn’t brand new, but it’s new enough that they’ve kept their sorrow locked tight, just a little ball in their chest that aches in the slow moments. If they say anything, they might have to reexamine this. And nobody wants to give the obvious solution.

Sharon leans up and Jemma leans down. It tastes like longing. When she pulls away, Jemma runs a hand through Steve’s hair, his head now resting on her thigh.

“How about we give you a souvenir?” Sharon murmurs.

Jemma raises an eyebrow, not understanding. Steve looks over at her and understands her meaning perfectly.

The two of them lean down, each sucking gently at a patch of milky skin. “Juvenile,” Jemma responds as she realizes, but it turns into a gasp as Steve moves on to a slightly tenderer spot. Slowly they trail forward, leaving constellations of bruises on each of her thighs, up towards the patch of softness waiting for them.

“That’s quite a souvenir,” Jemma breathes. But they’re not finished. Her legs fall open and they find a home between them, pulling her closer so they can get better access. She is overcome much too fast, but it’s two against one, and they’re relentless in the pursuit of distracting her.

Steve can’t help himself: he reaches up to fondle one of her breasts, let the pad of his thumb entice her nipple. Sharon’s hand is splayed over Jemma’s stomach, pressing into the curve of her spine against the headboard. Adding a little pain to the pleasure.

She knows Jemma so well.

Together they draw an orgasm out of her, an ache and a pull and a release, and then keep going long enough to wrench out another one. By the end, she’s weak with heady satisfaction. “Fuck the both of you,” she sighs.

They grin.

“You two,” Jemma says, goading them. “Come on, now.”

“You’re tired,” Steve protests.

“So we’ll go slow.”

Sharon’s already getting out the strap-on, sliding it up Jemma’s quickly-bruising thighs. She knows Jemma won’t stand being left out, even if she’s not going to come again.

Jemma finishes securing it while Sharon takes Steve’s face in her hands, kissing him deeply.  Getting their girlfriend off has already made Sharon slick, but Steve does his genuine best to prepare her, biting at the tender spot on her shoulder, gently working her clit towards some reprieve. Unsteady but on her knees, Jemma prepares Steve, finding his lube in the bedside drawer. She slips a hand around Steve’s waist, offers Sharon a condom, before working to stretch him.

Once the condom is situated, Steve slides into Sharon with a low little _humpf_ , almost like relief. Sharon takes a minute to let her head sink back into the bed at the fullness before speaking. “Hold still for Jemma.”

Steve does as told, an adorable concentration overtaking his face. The rest of him attempts to relax, until finally, finally, Jemma makes a smooth effort in, filling him slowly.

She presses sweet kisses to his spine as he groans.

“Ready?” Steve asks, almost slurring with anticipation.

They are; and the three of them find a heartbreaking rhythm. The rudest, most luxurious sort of _slow_ , set by Jemma. She quite enjoys their neediness, the feeling of power at being able to wind them up. Tonight, she draws it out, staying achingly consistent. If Steve tries to speed up, Jemma brings him back down. If Sharon asks for harder, Jemma denies her.

Because she just wants more time with them.

Finally, the age of rutting crests into something shattering. Jemma nips at Steve’s back, pushing harder once, and they both come with the sweetest little cries. She fucks more sound out of them until they are both spent.

Jemma pulls away, lets Steve do the same; and he collapses next to Sharon on the bed while Jemma rests back against the headboard once more.

“How’d I do?” Jemma asks smugly.

Sharon kicks her. Steve says, “Not bad for tipsy.”

Jemma makes a few lumbering moves to get off the bed and head to the bathroom to clean their toy; and Sharon takes that as her cue to unpeel herself from the sticky sheets and use the toilet. In the yellow light and against the cold porcelain, Sharon looks over from her seat to Jemma at the sink.

“We’re so lucky,” Sharon says quietly.

And Jemma understands completely. Because Sharon and Jemma had been together before, and circumstances had pulled them apart. But somehow they made it back to each other.

Steve enters, reaches around Jemma to throw the condom in the bathroom trash. “I’m lucky too.” He presses his cheek to Jemma’s head, taking time to admire them both. Jemma leans back into him, drying her hands.

“This is what I’m going to remember,” Jemma says softly. “When I’m away.”

Sharon can’t help it. She can’t.

“Me peeing?”

“ _Yes_ , Sharon,” Jemma growls. “Your staunch commitment to preventing _UTIs_.”

“ _And_ the moment’s passed,” Steve grins, disengaging and moving back into the other room. “Come to bed!”

Jemma backs out as well, still irritated. “Yes, _do_ come to bed.”

Sharon can’t wait to find out how she’ll be punished.

 


End file.
